


I’m a Sucker for a Wild Boy

by jinlinli



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe- Vampires and Werewolves, Blood Drinking, But Like Different Flavors of Neck Biting Kink LOL, Cultural Differences, Everyone has a Neck Biting Kink, M/M, Mating Bites, Misunderstandings, Vampire Steve Rogers, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Wolf Instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlinli/pseuds/jinlinli
Summary: Steve is a vampire who’s never met a werewolf in his life before. Bucky is a werewolf who doesn’t even know vampires exist. Naturally, neck biting means twoverydifferent things to them.In which Steve goes for a midnight snack and accidentally gets himself werewolf married.





	1. A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar…

**Author's Note:**

> I got hit in the face with this idea the other day, then riffed on it for a bit on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jinlinlian/status/1072909439483572224), and now it’s a thing that exists in the world.
> 
> Also please appreciate the very lame pun I picked for the title of this fic.

There’d been an itching in him for what feels like a week now. It’s not often that Bucky feels the pull of the gibbous moon like this, this tightness in his body, the buzzing under his skin. He can’t tell if it’s that he’s a long way from home, his pack, or if it’s just his nerves fraying. New York is noisy and crowded, and every scent is just a little too sharp to be bearable. Too many things crowding his senses, and he feels as if he’s stumbling through his days both overstimulated and half-blind. Wolves were not made for the city.

Bucky shifts on the tiny bar stool, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he’s stewing in the smell of other people’s sweat. It’s loud in here, as everywhere seems to be in New York. It’s like a wall of noise pressing down against his ears, just one mass of sound that’s impossible to decipher as anything but that. Bucky edges carefully away from a couple pressed up against each other. The bar surface sticks to his skin, and layered under all the scents of alcohol and people, there’s the distinct odor of old vomit.

But he’d accomplished his purpose by coming here. Everything in him is so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sensory input that he doesn’t feel the call of the moon at all. There’s no room for it amidst the chatter of human voices. That part of him is carefully tamped down, and for the first time in ages, Bucky doesn’t feel like he wants to climb out of his skin.

He’s still jumpy and irritated, but at least he’s not constantly on the verge of losing control over his wolf. Like he’s not about to give in to every instinctual urge that flits through him. And most of those seem to be his mating instincts deciding to make themselves known. His wolf, sensing how lonely and disconnected Bucky’s feeling, decided to ‘help’ by urging him to find a mate. It all only serves to make everything that much more messy and inconvenient because there aren’t any other wolves crazy enough to actually live in a city. So he’s just hopped up on all these instincts with nowhere for them to go. Even now, he can still feel it pulsing dully but insistently in the pit of his stomach.

It’s the first time that Bucky starts to think maybe he regrets leaving home. The ancient standing forests deep in the north where there’s nothing but clean air and good hunting. He does miss it. It’s a hard land, but it was quiet in a way that New York never will allow itself to be. The living was simple and honest. His family logged for the lumber mills downstream. They swapped beer and stories with the locals of the few towns crazy enough to make a life as far north as they are. Then sometimes in the nighttime hours, they ran in their second skins. It was a life his family had lived for generations.

And that’s precisely why Bucky’s here alone in a strange city—in general, pursuing a degree he understands maybe half the time if he’s lucky, and in the specific, hunching over the bar, feeling the thud of other people’s heartbeats in his head. His whole family spent their entire lives locked away from the world, willfully ignoring the affairs of humans. Sure, they knew some things, whatever’s managed to trickle its way up to the scattered human towns picking a living out of the ice and snow. But not enough, not nearly enough, and Bucky’s not going back until he’s seen everything this brave new world has to offer. Even if that means dealing with feeling lovesick and vaguely horny all the fucking time.

He sighs and thunks his head against the bar top. A few minutes later, there’s the thump of glass on wood right next to his ear, and he looks up. It’s a glass with a half finger of whiskey in it. The bartender jerks his head to the other side of the bar. “Fella over there seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Bucky eyes the offered alcohol somewhat dubiously before looking at the man the bartender indicated. And well, he’s attractive. Who’s he kidding, he’s really fucking hot. He’s built broad and strong to the point that he could probably hold his own against a werewolf. The way his cheekbones catch the light shouldn’t be as appealing to Bucky as it is, and his nose is just a little bit crooked from being broken once or twice in the past. His blond hair's coiffed and gelled, and his shirt is maybe just a little bit too tight. It’s obvious that he got himself all dolled up tonight to flirt and tease his way into someone’s bed.

Bucky makes eye contact with the other man and tips his head back to down the whiskey. It has a pleasant burn to it, a hint of smoke, and for a moment, he just lets himself enjoy the feeling of it sliding down his throat. When he turns his head back to the other man, he sees the intensity in his gaze as he looks at Bucky. And he realizes the man’s staring at Bucky’s neck.

A flash of heat rushes through him, and the wolf in him whines. He hadn’t thought there were any other werewolves in New York. No pack has it claimed as their territory, he hadn’t caught the scent of anyone like himself, and the witch who helped him with the transition insisted he was the only one.

But humans definitely don’t stare at other people’s necks like it’s the most enticing thing in the world.

He props his head against his hand, baring his throat ever so slightly, so it’s visible under the scruff of his beard. A thrill runs through him at the way the man’s gaze locks onto the exposed skin, his eyes becoming that much more intense until it almost seems to flash in the dim light of the bar. Bucky grins and stands abruptly. The movement seems to snap the man out of his trance, and Bucky meets his gaze before deliberately making for the door. He doesn’t have to look to know the man is following him.

This is exactly what he needs after months spent alone amongst humans. He likes them, genuinely enjoys their company, and he’s made a number of lifelong friends since coming to New York for university. But there’s nothing quite like the silent camaraderie amongst fellow wolves, the ease that comes with knowing that he can fully comfortably be himself. It would do wonders for him to have one good fucking where he can let himself really let loose as much as he wants—push and pull, bite and snarl, revel in the scent of another wolf. Maybe they can keep in touch after this, and every time the city gets to be too much, they can seek each other out.

Bucky steps out into the nighttime chill, the noise of the bar spilling out with him. A few seconds later, a hand is gripping his arm firmly and turning him around. He shivers with delight at the unnatural strength of the other man, confirming all of his hopes. This is the first time he’s gotten a good look at him, and he’s that much more appealing up close. The man’s eyes are blue, startlingly so, and there’s a smattering of freckles on his pale skin. Then Bucky fixates on his lips, the fullness of them. The man leans in and nips playfully at his bottom lip. There’s the barest hint of sharp teeth that almost sends him whining with need.

“What’s your name?” Bucky asks.

“Steve,” the man says. He has something of a Brooklyn accent. A local. Bucky wonders how the witch never knew about a wolf born and bred in New York.

“Mm, I’m Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Steve repeats.

He winds his hands into the fabric of Bucky’s flannel and tugs him into walking forward until they’re in the darkness of the alley next to the bar. Bucky lets himself be manhandled, reveling in the fact that Steve’s strong enough to even do that. When his back’s pressed against the rough brick wall of the bar, he can feel the music from inside pulsing through his body. It drowns out all other sounds to the point that he can’t even hear his own heartbeat. He presses forward, tangling his hands into Steve’s hair, pulling him into a kiss.

He keeps his fangs and claws carefully tucked away. Much as he would like to just let himself lose all restraint, with how bad his control’s been lately, and with the full moon so near, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself once he starts. And the last thing Bucky needs is to accidentally maul Steve in a half-feral pique of fervor, to turn him off entirely with a display of a teenager’s level of self-control. So instead, he grabs at Steve, curling blunt nails into the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Steve more than makes up in ferocity for the both of them. He delves into his mouth with a fierceness that sends Bucky’s toes curling, nipping and sucking and snarling. His body presses down hard against Bucky’s, one hand gripping the collar of his shirt, the other roaming freely over his back.

Steve’s mouth is that mix of soft lips and sharp teeth that sends a wave of heat through Bucky. That’s always been the way between wolves, the blend of affection and danger in every step of courtship. Not that he’s expecting anything more than a hook-up, but his wolf to starts rumbling with delight and anticipation anyway.

Still, it’s just not quite enough. Bucky’s still half-deaf and nose-blind from the bar, and it’s like he can’t sense Steve at all. His heart booming in his chest is drowned out by the music pouring out of the bar. The more unpleasant scents of the alley, the whole city, smothers even the barest hint of Steve’s true scent. He can catch hints of beer and human sweat and something else metallic like rust, like blood. If Steve weren’t standing in Bucky’s space, sliding his mouth insistently against his own, hissing half-words into his skin, Bucky wouldn’t have known he was there at all.

He feels lost without a scent to latch onto. It’s maddening, feeling his instincts all rise up in him like the beginnings of wildfire, but with nowhere to go. He pushes closer, pushing himself harder into Steve’s skin, and it’s still not enough. His frustration rumbles in his throat.

He’s so wrapped up in the mess of confused instincts inside him that it takes him a moment to realize that Steve had gone still. Bucky pulls back to look at him curiously. There’s a strange expression on Steve’s face, partly surprised, partly uncomfortable. After a moment, Bucky realizes with an embarrassed flush what the gesture must’ve looked like to Steve. He’s acting like a love-struck pup who’s never fooled around under a gibbous moon before, all instincts and not a lick of sense. Embarrassingly overeager.

He raises his hands and tries to fight down the mortified redness on his face. “Sorry, I—” and he realizes he has no idea how to explain himself. “Sorry,” he repeats lamely.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but the weird expression on his face seems to ease somewhat. His eyes flick down to Bucky’s neck, and something goes hot and predatory in his gaze. A shudder runs down his spine, and the warring urges to fight and to submit start to coil inside him. The contradictory instincts when meeting a wolf outside his own pack, to whom he owes no allegiance, where their hierarchal positions are still hazy and unknown—somehow, it just makes this all the more enticing. By the end of the night, they’ll know where they stand with each other, but not before hopefully some very pleasant hours of wrestling for power, by turns dominating and submitting.

And then, Steve slowly starts to move in closer, his eyes locked with Bucky’s. Something seems to spark in his gaze, something bright and unnatural, tantalizingly like he’s losing control of his wolf underneath his composed exterior. Bucky keeps still, and his heart judders in his throat when he feels Steve’s breath brush against the skin of his neck. He swallows as a mouth presses into the juncture at his shoulder, exactly where the mating bite should go. He stiffens with shock when he feels teeth press lightly against his throat.

_Holy shit._

It’s well—it’s really damn forward of Steve, is what it is. Bucky’s skin goes hot as bewilderment and arousal surge in the pit of his stomach. He’s had his share of flings with the Yukon wolves that occasionally crossed into his family’s territory. And there’s very little his kind holds back on, but you don’t go for the neck unless you really mean it. It’s an intimate place, reserved for courting wolves. Setting your teeth where Steve just did is tantamount to declaring the desire to become mates. He may as well’ve gotten down on one knee and proposed.

Heat flushes through Bucky’s face, and he hears Steve making a pleased noise. Steve presses closer, his teeth going ever so slightly sharper. “Uhh,” Bucky tries to say, but it’s barely a word. “ _Oh my god_.”

Bucky can’t even pull himself together enough to ask what the fuck Steve is doing because his legs are slowly liquifying underneath him at the feeling of Steve starting to gently maul his neck. He’d be on the ground by now if Steve’s body hadn’t been pressing him up against the wall. Bucky’s never been this flustered and confused in his life, and he honestly has no idea what to do with this.

As flattering as the declaration is, they _literally just met_. Bucky was only really looking for a casual fuck, and in hindsight, he hadn’t done anything to convey to Steve that he wasn’t looking for anything deeper. He hadn’t thought he needed to because total strangers tended to not ask you to become their forever mate. But he only really has the other northern wolves for a frame of reference. Maybe it’s different for wolves further south.

But it’s getting harder and harder for him to remember why he should say no to this. Not with the firm, hard weight of Steve against his body, not with the knifepoints of Steve’s teeth digging into his skin, not with the pull of the moon beginning to reassert itself. His wolf is going a little bit too crazy, and it’s all he can do to keep from melting into a horny submissive puddle. Staying upright is an admirable display of self-control if he does say so himself. Still, he can’t help a low whine from escaping and tilting his head to expose his throat just a little more.

That pulls an appreciative noise from Steve. It’s a sound that Bucky’s never quite heard from another wolf before, but manages to twang against some long-buried instinct in him, sending a bolt of _run-predator-flee_ skittering through Bucky’s body. He shudders. It’s a bizarre feeling, but it isn’t exactly unpleasant either. After a moment, he feels something damp and warm pressing against his neck. Steve starts to mouth at the skin of Bucky’s throat, sliding teeth and lips and tongue enticingly over his hypersensitive skin.

He tries again to garble out something along the lines of, _Look, I’m flattered, but maybe we should get coffee first?_ But then Steve presses down just hard enough for Bucky to feel the warm trickle of blood on his neck, and then, the press of Steve’s tongue as he laps it up. All the words fly right out of his head, and Bucky kinda wants to flop onto his back and beg for more.

Fuck, Bucky’s crazy enough that he actually wants to accept the offer. He can’t entirely tell whether it’s the moon-addled part of his brain or it’s the scrap of rationality he still has left, but he's rapidly starting to suspect it's neither. He's never reacted in this way to _anyone_ before, not even close. There’s no denying that Steve has a physicality to him that Bucky’s inexplicably and viscerally attracted to. Why Steve is different—it’s nothing he can even really articulate to himself entirely. Steve’s hot like burning, sure, but Bucky's thought people were hot before without wanting to fucking marry them. This is important somehow. It runs deeper than superficial attraction. Instinct buried inside him that keeps shouting, _yes-yes-mine-yes-mate_ , drowning out everything else. And it's never smart to ignore his wolf when it howls this loud about something.

And honestly? He’s lonely. He hasn’t had anything resembling pack in months, and here’s Steve, bright and ferocious, offering companionship and love and eternal partnership without hesitating. How can Bucky possibly say no to that? So he doesn’t.

He shudders when he finally does feel Steve break skin just above the right spot, heat flushing through his entire system. It rolls through him until his body aches with it, and the last vestiges of his control slip away until finally, finally, it breaks. _Mate_ , he thinks as his wolf comes howling to the fore, in his nails, his eyes, his teeth.

He leans forward, lets his fangs drop, and bites down.

 

* * *

 

What the fuck.

_What the actual fuck._

Steve’s seen a lot of shit in his life, okay? It’s not a very long one, admittedly. He’s barely cracked a hundred years, which is just enough time to feel both ancient and frustratingly young. Certainly, to the old blood covens renting out the shiny office spaces in Manhattan, he’s still very much a wet-behind-the-ears whelp. Regardless, he’s come across a lot of weird things in his century of existence that he definitely would not have imagined when he was mortal. But this—this just might take the cake.

All he was looking for was a quick bite to eat. A midnight snack, really. Steve might be young enough to still remember what it was like to be mortal, but even he understood the necessity of surviving on the blood of others. It wasn't something he liked, and he hoped to hell that he’d never learn to enjoy it. But it was necessary, horrible as it was.

So Steve went bar hopping, skimming off a little from a half a dozen different people, and getting them off for their trouble. In this, the anonymity of the city was a blessing. To the hundreds of people he’d drank from over the years, he was nothing more than the memory of a rushed, fumbled hook-up in a bathroom stall.

It was Steve’s first bar of the night. Business as normal. He didn’t really need that much blood, just enough to keep his strength above the human baseline. So he’d slid into one of his favorite bars—just busy enough where a new face wouldn't be noticed, but not so busy that it was likely for someone to stumble across him mid-drink—and found a likely prospect.

Mid-twenties, shoulder-length hair, a scraggly beard, shoulders and biceps like he could snap Steve in two. And not built in the overly perfect way that gym rats get, all muscle without a lick of body fat on them. He looked like he actually _used_ his body for real hard labor. This man wouldn’t faint if Steve drank some of his blood. He might not even get dizzy. Steve made the mistake of drinking from a woman outside a kombucha bar just after she’d come off a juice cleanse. He’d had to drive her to the emergency clinic himself. He was  _not_ making the same mistake again.

And he was painfully attractive in ways that Steve hadn’t even really known he was into. It wouldn't be a chore at all to jerk this guy off in the alley behind the bar.

And it was all actually turning out to be really promising. The guy—Bucky—was a hot solid weight pushing into Steve’s torso, and for a moment, he was almost convinced that Bucky was as strong as him. His body felt firm and tangible in a way that Steve didn’t even realize he missed. He’d spent so long curtailing his enhanced strength around people who were so much more fragile, so very breakable, so _mortal_ , that he hadn’t even realized how much he was holding back. He didn’t have to so much with Bucky, who looked like he stepped right out of the backwoods into the middle of the city.

And somehow, Bucky was enthusiastically onboard with everything, even when Steve threw him around a bit using his enhanced strength. If anything, he actively enjoyed it when Steve got a bit rough with him, which boded well about his feelings on biting. Steve’d gotten decked a few times by people who didn’t appreciate that at all. At least, he was able to pass it off as just an unusual kink of his in this sexually liberated day and age.

But well, if Steve had a blood kink, Bucky most _definitely_ had a neck kink. Maybe even an undiscovered one, because he damn near lost his mind the moment Steve touched his throat. Where before he’d been pretty assertive with what he wanted, he _melted_ whenever Steve did anything to his neck. Touch it, kiss it, dig his teeth ever so slightly in—it was like watching Bucky become a different creature entirely.

He whined and moaned and clung to Steve like he was the only thing keeping him standing. The confident smirking man from the bar turned into a ball of unrestrained want, and damn it, Steve was already having a hard enough time keeping himself composed _before_ Bucky showed this side of himself. His pale eyes caught in the dim streetlight. The easy grace in his movements. His throat bobbing in the bar as he swallowed his drink. The tendons of his neck standing out as he tilted his head, as if deliberately offering himself to Steve. The enticing thrum of his heartbeat just under his skin. The scruff of his beard scratching against Steve’s mouth as they kissed, rubbing him raw and sensitive. In the face of all that, it was impossible for Steve to keep his eyes from flashing and his fangs from dropping. It was a miracle that Bucky hadn’t even noticed anything yet.

It was the easiest thing in the world to seek out the spot on Bucky’s neck where his heartbeat pulsed the strongest, and bite.

He could feel Bucky twitching underneath him, the sounds escaping him definitely that of pleasure rather than pain. Steve’d never gotten such a strong reaction before from this. It was almost as if he was giving a gift to Bucky rather than taking something from him. The feeling that someone would so wholeheartedly enjoy the act of Steve drinking from them was a heady one.

What made matters worse was Bucky’s blood was like nothing Steve’d ever tasted before. There was an earthiness to it, a vitality that brought to mind fresh game and clear spring water. Every other person’s blood he’d tasted before seemed watered down, somehow lesser, by comparison. He’d never liked the taste of blood, never relished the flavor of it like some of the other vampires did. But Christ, he wished he could spend the rest of his life with the taste of Bucky on his tongue.

It took a good deal of self-restraint to keep from going beyond his usual limit. Just a couple mouthfuls, nothing more. With the advances in health and nutrition over the past century, that was all Steve really needed. So he pulled back, letting the blood soak through him, lifting the heaviness from his limbs.

That’s when Bucky bites him.

Steve freezes, his breath catching in his throat. If he had a heart beat, it would quicken. If he had any sort of mortal instinct left in him, maybe he would cry out and shove Bucky away. But he has neither of these things, so he makes do with standing stock still, trying to convince himself that it’s impossible for vampires to hyperventilate, no matter how much his lungs are trying to convince him of the contrary. Maybe part of his brain shuts down from shock because he can’t even begin to understand what’s going on right now. People don’t just bite back after a vampire bites them first. That’s just—it doesn’t _happen_ like that.

But that’s not what freaks Steve out the most. It’s the fact that Bucky bit him with what are very much non-human teeth. They’re curved and sharp-tipped, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think he’d accidentally drank from another vampire. But Bucky most definitely isn’t a fucking vampire because he’s _alive_. He has lifeblood pulsing through his veins. Steve can feel the pull of Bucky’s living heart even now. It doesn’t make any sense.

 _What the fuck_ , he thinks. Then he says it aloud because it bears repeating. “What the fuck.”

Bucky’s still on his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder like he didn’t even hear Steve, like he wants nothing more in the world than to just stand here touching Steve. He keeps making these _sounds_ , like nothing Steve’s ever heard from a human throat before. Growls and half-whines, almost primal. And Steve has no fucking idea what to make of it all. Bucky doesn’t even seem to be much interested in drinking Steve’s blood, letting it sluggishly leak down the side of his neck and onto the collar of his shirt. This is the one of the weirdest things that’s ever happened to him, and that’s saying something. Being bitten by someone who by every metric is most definitely not a vampire but also cannot possibly be human.

After a while, the non-words coming out of Bucky’s mouth in an endless stream resolves into something resembling language, and it’s—Steve would blush if he still could. It’s _possessive_. A litany of _pretty_ and _mate_ and _mine mine mine_ that sends panic skittering through him because it’s hitting him now that he’s way in over his head in something he doesn’t even _begin_ to understand.

Steve tries to pull away, put some space between them, only to find that he can’t move at all. Bucky’s arms are like steel bands wrapped around him, so strong that Steve can’t even budge him an inch. And if Steve still thought there was a chance that Bucky might be just an unusual human with a neck kink and filed teeth, there’s no refuting it now. Bucky is something else.

Steve tries to wrench away again, throwing all of his strength into it. Bucky’s grip on him tightens, and something like an honest to god snarl rumbles out of his throat. That’s all the warning he gets before Bucky is whirling them around until it’s Steve’s back that’s pressed into the wall, caged in by Bucky’s body. It knocks the breath out of him, and Steve stares wide-eyed at him.

Bucky brings his head up to send a rebuking look at Steve. “Stay,” he growls.

And his face is different somehow. His beard is darker and thicker, his hair is wilder. There’s sharp teeth filling his mouth, and the scrape of claws against Steve as Bucky runs his hands over his side. But it’s the eyes that finally drive home how well and truly fucked Steve is. They shine with an unnatural brightness that Steve’s never seen before. Both like the muted red glow tinging his own eyes, and nothing like it at all. A not-vampire vampire.

The pupils are blown wide, almost like Bucky’s drugged. There’s a glazed quality to them as if Bucky isn’t really entirely here, as if something else has taken over. Something that doesn’t think like a human at all. He’s starting to feel a lot like predator turned prey after the sheep reveals that it had sharp teeth and claws underneath its wool all along.

“Okay,” Steve says, pitching his voice low and soothing. “I won’t move. I’m staying right here.” He holds his hands up the same way he would when placating a snarling dog. And that’s really what it feels like he’s doing—trying to calm down a wild animal that’s seconds away from attacking.

It does seem to work because Bucky seems to calm down long enough to loosen his hold on Steve a little. He pushes his nose into the crook between Steve’s jaw and his neck, murmuring, “Mine. Mine. Pretty mate. Stay.”

A moment of insight flashes through Steve’s head, and he whispers, hesitantly, “Yes, yours,” and watches Bucky’s eyes flutter shut with pleasure at the sound of those words. Steve pushes his luck a little further, and carefully places his hand on Bucky’s neck, right where he’d bitten in earlier.

It’s almost not surprising at this point to find that the wound has healed over entirely, leaving nothing but scar tissue shaped like his teeth. It’s even less surprising when Bucky seems to go boneless at the press of Steve’s skin against the bite mark, almost whimpering at the touch. He may not know what Bucky is, but he’s at least figured out that all of these strange animalistic impulses seem to center around the neck.

Bucky’s body sways forward until he’s draped himself almost completely on top of Steve. “So so pretty,” he says wonderingly then reaches up to touch Steve’s cheek.

Steve closes his eyes at that, a shiver running through him. Jesus Christ. For all of Bucky’s apparent strength, it matters very little considering how utterly enthralled he seems to be with Steve. He stares at Bucky, at the deep flush spreading from his face down below the collar of his shirt, at the naked desire etched into every line of his body, at how Bucky seems radiate happiness under Steve’s touch. And for a moment, Steve lets himself _want_.

Then he smiles at him and brings both hands up to cradle Bucky’s face. He leans forward until he’s sure he has Bucky’s eyes completely locked against his own. And then he whispers, “ _Sleep_ ,” letting every ounce of his power curl into that one syllable. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, and he slumps to the ground.

Steve stares down at him. That was way too fucking close. He turns on his heel and gets out of there as fast as he can.

He doesn’t stop running until he’s slamming into his apartment halfway across the city and pressing his back against his front door, his chest heaving. He’s light-headed and wobbly from using up so much of his strength to cast that charm on Bucky. Even the safety of his own home isn’t quite enough to make him stop feeling horribly vulnerable at just how drained his strength is right now.

His hand shakes when he touches the side of his neck where the pain of Bucky’s bite still throbs dully. There’s still some blood leaking lethargically from the wound, and Steve sighs as he goes to hunt down some gauze to wrap it. Injuries tend to linger longer on vampires, their bodies running on time so much slower than that of mortals. It doesn’t really matter how fast they heal. There’s very little that actually kills them. It’ll be a long time before the physical evidence of this night disappears.


	2. Hey asshole, bite me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve?”  
> “Someone just broke my window.”  
> She hums. “This so-called living vampire of yours?”  
> Steve sighs and stands up to inspect the damage to his bedroom, only to immediately find himself with an armful of needy, lovesick Bucky. “Uhh, yeah, actually,” he says, staring down incredulously at Bucky. “He followed me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done!

After the blood is all cleaned away, and the wound tended to, Steve curls up in his favorite armchair and calls Natasha. The events of the night cycle endlessly through his mind as the line rings.

Even though it’s the middle of the night, she picks up quickly, as he knows she will. It’s really nice to be friends with a witch sometimes. They keep the same odd hours that Steve does. “This better be worth interrupting my work, Steve,” she grumbles into the phone. “I’ve only got a few days left to finish prepping a client’s full moon ritual.”

Steve looks down, not really sure how to begin to describe what happened. “I—have you ever come across a vampire that was also still alive?”

There’s a pause. “What.”

“I’ve had a really fucking weird night.”

Natasha responds, but Steve doesn’t hear her because suddenly, there’s a noise that sounds suspiciously like the glass of his bedroom window breaking.

“Steve?”

“Someone just broke my window.”

She hums. “This so-called living vampire of yours?”

Steve sighs and stands up to inspect the damage to his bedroom, only to immediately find himself with an armful of needy, lovesick Bucky. He buries his face into Steve’s chest and wraps his arms around his torso. He’s shivering and snuffling a little bit like he’s trying to catch Steve’s scent.

“Uhh, yeah, actually,” Steve says, staring down incredulously at him. “He followed me home.”

Bucky murmurs, “Stay, stay, don’t leave. Please. Don’t leave. Mate. Mine. Don’t go.” And the misery and adoration in his voice cracks something deep inside Steve, and almost of their own volition, his fingers start to card soothingly through Bucky’s hair. He melts into the contact, sighing with contentment. And god, as fucked up as this whole situation is, something in Steve can’t help but warm at the sight of Bucky so at ease and happy.

“ _Well_ _then_ ,” Natasha says, and suddenly, she sounds very interested in the proceedings. She clearly heard Bucky’s voice over the phone. “Isn’t that interesting. Would you mind telling me why you think your stalker is a walking oxymoron like a live vampire.”

Steve resists the urge to reach up and touch the bandaged bite wound. He stares down at Bucky, who’s staring right back up at him like he hung the moon. “Well, he has teeth. Like mine. And his eyes glow? But they aren’t red.” He shrugs and winces when the movement tugs at the injury. Bucky makes a low distressed noise. “He has a heartbeat. And he’s,” Steve coughs, embarrassed, “he’s warm.”

“Interesting,” Natasha says again. “You were out hunting tonight, weren’t you?”

Bucky decides use this moment to lunge forward and grab Steve’s shoulders before hauling him down to the floor. He then proceeds to flop all over Steve, pinning him down. The phone clatters out of his hand. Steve really can’t do anything but let Bucky manhandle him. He’s still pretty much entirely drained from casting the charm on Bucky earlier. His limbs are about as strong as a kitten’s. 

“Mine,” Bucky hisses, glaring at the phone. “Not yours. Mine.”

“Yeah,” Steve wheezes out from under Bucky’s not insignificant weight. “I was. That’s how I—” his voice stutters in his throat when Bucky presses forward and starts to unwind the bandage from his neck, “—met Bucky.”

“Huh, so I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and guess that you bit him on the neck,” comes Natasha’s voice from the phone now a few feet away from him. It’s tinny but thankfully still understandable.

“So wait, do you know what he is?”

“I have an inkling. Now answer the question.”

“I—yeah, I bit his neck. And then he, uhhh, he bit me back and started acting really fucking weird. That’s why I called you.”

There’s a very long silence as that information sinks in. Bucky rumbles out a pleased sound when he finally manages to work the bandage off of Steve. He then proceeds to tuck his nose into Steve’s throat, snuffling gently at the bite mark. Steve wonders how the hell his life ended up like this. A handsome but feral man pinning him down and happily gnawing on him.

“He bit you,” Natasha finally says. “And just to confirm, did he happen to bite you on the neck?”

“Uhh, yeah, he did.”

Another silence, and then, Natasha bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, Steve, only you. Only you.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Steve says with resignation.

“You just bit a werewolf on the neck on the waxing moon, and he _returned the favor._ ”

“Pretty,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s skin.

There’s a pinprick of pain as the tip of one fang catches at just the wrong angle. Steve groans and half-heartedly tries to push Bucky’s face away from him. It’s like trying to move a brick wall. After some ineffectual shoving, Bucky apparently gets it into his head that this is Steve initiating a bout of play fighting.

After some wrestling that’s awkward on Steve’s part and very enthusiastic on Bucky’s, Steve ends up face down on the floor with Bucky’s entire body weight on top of him as he affectionately nuzzles Steve’s shoulder. He sighs.

“I don’t know what that means, Nat,” he says, his voice muffled by the rug. “I don’t know shit about werewolves.”

“Clearly,” she snorts. “All the signs were right in your face, and you thought living vampire? Really?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know? I’ve never even _met_ a werewolf before.”

He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s rolling her eyes. “Werewolves have this little quirk of biology where they have a gland filled with all sorts of fun hormones right where their shoulder meets their neck.”

“And in layman’s terms?”

“You got the poor thing hopped up on a cocktail of mating hormones that’re all completely locked onto you. You got yourself werewolf married.”

Steve pushes his head up to stare at the phone. “I did _what?_ ”

“Mate,” Bucky says happily.

“You proposed to that wolf of yours. And he accepted. You’re mated with him for life now, lover boy.”

“ _For_ _life?_ ”

The sheer distress in his voice is enough to get Bucky to pause in molesting Steve’s shoulder. After a moment, Bucky shifts his weight off of Steve enough for him to lever himself up. When he’s finally sitting upright, he looks at Bucky who’s visibly distressed by Steve’s mood. It’s—it’s a lot to see such utter blind devotion in someone else. Bucky’s happiness in this state being so directly tied to what Steve does is completely overwhelming. He doesn’t even know the man Bucky normally is all that well, but the little that he did see, well, he liked that Bucky a lot.

He was confident. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to get it. There was a tangibility to him that Steve had spent a lot of time not knowing he was missing. The sense of connection to another person, instant and visceral. It’s been a long time since Steve’s ever felt much of anything about anyone, this draw to Bucky to know him and learn him as if they're standing at the start of something bigger.

It was in the way his smile curled his mouth when he so, so deliberately tipped his neck. And Christ, Steve actually knows now what that gesture must’ve meant to Bucky. It was a clear invitation for something more. He looks at the hazy fever-brightness in Bucky’s eyes, and something unpleasant tightens in him. Steve remembers the sharp clarity in Bucky’s gaze, even when he was just looking for someone to get off with. That’s the glimpse of the Bucky that Steve misses, even while he’s sitting right next to him.

“Is he going to be like this forever?” Steve asks.

“It’s only temporary, don’t worry,” Natasha says, her voice gentling a little. “He’s basically useless for the next day or so while the mating bond stabilizes. But after it does, he’ll be back to normal.”

Steve exhales, relieved. “Is he aware of what’s going on? Or is it all just instinct?”

“He’s not really in a state of mind to do much thinking right now.”

Steve feels himself go cold. “And I triggered all this because I bit him?”

“Yes.”

“I—okay. Thanks for helping out, Nat.” He pinches his brow and tries not to feel like he really really fucked up.

“I have to check how the ritual prep’s going, but if you need anything, I can swing by in the morning.”

And Steve wants to take her up on that offer. This is a lot more than he ever bargained for, and he’s getting the awful feeling that he may have really fucked over Bucky. But there’s a part of him that also feels weirdly protective of Bucky in this state. Maybe it would be smarter to have Natasha here, considering she actually knows what the hell’s going on. But for reasons Steve can’t even begin to explain, he doesn’t _want_ her to be here. He doesn’t want _anyone_ to be here. He just wants to keep Bucky here and safe and away from the rest of the world.

“Thanks, but I’ll see if I can sort things out myself. I’ll let you know when he snaps out of it.”

“You’ll be fine. Just keep him close by, and let this run its course.” Then her voice turns amused. “It helps if you let him cuddle you. Have fun, kiddo.”

Natasha hangs up before Steve can fire off a retort.

He scowls at the phone. “I’m older than you.”

Then Steve turns his attention back to Bucky, who’s sitting on his heels, watching Steve attentively. The full ugly reality of what he did to Bucky sinks in. Natasha had been pretty clear about what effect the mating bite would have on him. Even if she hadn’t told Steve, it’s obvious that Bucky’s not at all in his right mind. There’s no way he was in any state to properly consent to anything, let alone a lifelong commitment to a total stranger. All the affection and attachment Bucky’s displaying now is all just manufactured emotion. And Steve is well aware of the fact that Bucky only bit him after Steve flooded his brain with love hormones. He’d basically drugged the guy and forced him to marry him.

And as far as he can tell, this isn’t something either of them can easily back out of. He scrubs his hands over his face and groans. This is so fucked up.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and Steve looks up to see Bucky’s concerned face peering at him. He smiles weakly at him and stands up, trying not to wince at how quickly Bucky gets to his feet to follow him. Steve guides the both of them to his couch and settles down on one end, letting Bucky curl up on the other side. He immediately has a werewolf pushing into his space as Bucky tucks his head against the crook of his elbow. It’s such an honest gesture of tenderness that guilt churns in Steve’s stomach. It’s all just the love hormones clouding his thoughts, making him feel emotions that aren’t actually there. He roofied Bucky into falling in love with him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

The thing is, it’s not that Steve would even mind being mated to Bucky. He can’t deny that he’s attracted to the guy, and it certainly wouldn’t be a hardship to spend the entirety of a mortal lifetime being around him. Bucky's sharp and challenging, and he more than anyone else may be able to understand Steve’s experiences.

The last century has been lonely. He’s missed the sense of connection and companionship he took for granted before he turned. He doesn’t much like his fellow vampires. Most of them are so ancient, they’ve lost all comprehension of mortal concerns, and they're not remotely interested in relearning. They don’t like Steve right back for his youth, his sentimental naivety, his staunch refusal to simply take what he wants when the whim strikes.

His human friends are few and dear, but every relationship, save the one with Natasha, is shadowed by the knowledge that he’ll have to leave them before his agelessness becomes apparent. Even if immortality was something they could accept, Steve doesn’t want to subject anyone to feeling the passage of time acutely while watching their closest companion remain forever youthful. That had happened all of once, with Peggy, a woman he’d loved in his mortal life and will continue to love until he ceases to exist. It’d been difficult for both of them, and to this day, he regrets that he hadn’t simply left her to build a normal life beyond him.

With Bucky, Steve can feel the potential for more, the opportunity for companionship he never thought he was still allowed to have. Werewolves may age as mortals do, but they would have an innate understanding of the supernatural that no mortal ever could. He would be able to accept parts of Steve, as Steve would be able to grasp things only other werewolves would understand in Bucky. And he could spend a lifetime learning Bucky, and still have more that he has yet to understand. Maybe he’s making much of mere scraps of information, but he can feel it pulling in his gut—a rightness, a clarity, an intuition that Bucky could easily become someone very important to him.

And Steve managed to ruin it even before it started. Forcefully tying Bucky to himself, souring any chance of them getting to know each other on their own terms. What love can really grow when you never had any choice in the matter? Bucky may grow to like Steve in time. He may even forgive him, but their relationship will always be overshadowed by the fact that Steve had trapped Bucky into a lifelong bond with him without his consent.

Steve stares down into the happiness on Bucky’s face, and then carefully untangles Bucky from himself. Bucky ends up with his face smooshed in the couch. Even then, he keeps one hand curled into the fabric of Steve’s shirt.

“Love you,” Bucky mumbles, muffled by the upholstery.

He doesn’t see the pained smile on Steve’s face as he looks down at him.

 

* * *

 

Bucky wakes up with his face squashed into the cushions of a stranger’s couch. It’s apparent even before he opens his eyes. The sofa smells like charcoal and furniture polish, but beyond that, he catches the barely-there hints of another person. It’s a scent that he knows he’s never come across before, and yet still manages to be oddly familiar. It’s so faint he almost wonders if there’s a chance he might be imagining it. He snuffles and rolls onto his back, his head still muzzy with sleep.

Weirdly enough, he feels _good_. Better than he has in a very long time, maybe not since he first left home. His haywire instincts have all settled down, and the call of the moon is a distant and easily ignorable sensation. The constant low-grade headache that’d been plaguing him for months is just completely gone. He feels settled into his body in a way that makes him want to just keep lying there, luxuriating in the contentment his wolf is radiating.

Then he scrubs a hand over his face and blearily opens his eyes. He’s in someone’s living room clearly. There’s a cluttered coffee table right next to him, and a squashy armchair in the corner. The whole space is cluttered with papers and weird little knick knacks all piled on top of each other. Bucky sits up and yawns.

There’s a man leaning against the other side of the couch. Bucky jerks back and yelps at the sight of him. He hadn’t even _known_ he was there.

“Good morning,” the man says. Bucky’s gaze flicks to the window. It’s dark outside.

“G’morning? Uhh, I’m sorry, how did I get here?”

“Well,” the man says, “you followed me home.”

Bucky stares at him. “I—what?”

The man is studying him, something guarded in his expression. “How much do you remember?”

“I dunno. I was at the bar, and I had a killer headache from—” Bucky casts a nervous look at the man, “I had a headache. So I went out drinking to distract myself, and then, the bartender gave me a drink from,” his eyes widen when he realizes he does recognize him, “ _you_. You’re the wolf from the bar.”

The man—Steve—looks sheepish. “Is that what you thought I was?”

“We went outside, and you kissed me. And then you gave me a mating bite,” Bucky trails off, touching the knotted scar on his throat. When he finally takes a good look at Steve, he realizes he’s still in the clothing from last night. It’s all rumpled and creased like someone had been grabbing at him. His styled hair is an absolute birds nest with tufts sticking up in all direction. And there’s a white bandage wrapped around his neck. “And then I guess I bit you,” he finishes numbly. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he can feel the bond thrumming at the edges of his perception. “We’re mates.”

“You don’t remember that part? Or anything after?” He can’t read the expression on Steve’s face.

He frowns, not quite able to tear his eyes away from where he knows an impression of his teeth is hidden under the bandage. “I remember what it felt like. Like there was this heat in me that swallowed me up, and the only relief was touching you. And then, you were gone, and I was alone.” The realization hits him. “Hey, what the fuck, you fucking abandoned me, _asshole_.”

That puts Steve on the back foot, and he looks like he’s at a complete loss for how to respond.

Bucky glares at him. “Hey, wow, really classy move right there. Straight up ditching your mate right after sealing the deal. What the fuck is your problem?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to,” Steve says.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. Of course, you meant to. I didn’t fucking imagine being knocked out and waking up cold and _alone_. You jilted me. I had to track you down through the goddamned bond! What? You didn’t mean to get cold feet? You didn’t mean to suddenly decide to become an absolute fucking _coward?_ ”

“No!” Steve shouts. “I didn’t,” and he stops, looking down miserably, “I didn’t mean to force you to mate with me.”

Bucky stares at him, rendered almost completely speechless. “ _What?_ ”

“I basically roofied you! It was obvious you weren’t in your right mind. You could barely form full sentences! You kept telling me you loved me, even though we literally just met. It was the bite. All the,” he waves his hand vaguely, “love hormones. Mating instincts. You can’t love someone like that this quickly.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, the full shitty implications of Steve’s words hitting him. “You didn’t want to mate with me _at all_.”

“That’s not—” Steve starts to say, but he’s no longer listening.

He can’t even believe this is happening right now. His mate is already rejecting him literally hours after initiating the bond. He’s only been out of the mating high for a few minutes, and his mate’s already regretting his decision. This is a level of pathetic Bucky didn’t even think was possible. “Then _why the fuck_ would you give me the mating bite in the first place?” he snarls, burying all the hurt under his anger.

Steve makes an aborted frustrated gesture. “Because I didn’t _know_ , okay? I didn’t—I’m not a werewolf.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bucky snaps. “I felt those teeth. I saw how strong you were. If you try to tell me you’re human, I _will_ hurt you.”

“Just because I’m not human doesn’t mean I’m a werewolf. I mean, _look_ _at me_.”

And then, Steve shifts. Except it’s not anything resembling a werewolf transformation. Red fills up his eyes like they’ve started bleeding, his skin almost seems to become paler, and when he opens his mouth, his twin canines are so perfectly straight and sharp that they don’t look like anything that belongs in a creature’s mouth. And in the silence of Steve’s apartment, it becomes apparent that—

“You don’t have a heartbeat,” Bucky says, his eyebrows rising. He reaches forward to press his hand onto Steve’s neck to check for a pulse, and then goes still after a moment, realizing that he’d done that without thought as if it was the most natural thing in the world to just touch Steve. He scowls and yanks his hand back. Stupid mating instincts. Even if Steve isn’t a werewolf, the end result is the same: Bucky’s mated with someone who never meant to propose to him in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I really am. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have—”

He groans. “Of course, it was all a mistake. Why the hell did you even bite me?”

Steve straightens, clearly working himself up to some big important declaration. “I’m a vampire.”

“What the fuck is a vampire.” It’s deeply satisfying seeing Steve deflate a little as some of the wind’s taken out of his sails.

“Right, yeah, you wouldn’t know. We don’t exactly run in the same circles. I’d never even seen a werewolf before I met you.” Steve grimaces. “We’re basically the undead. Not technically alive, but not all the way dead either.” He pauses and shifts nervously, fiddling with the edges of his bandage. Bucky hates how much he stares at the way his fingers play against his neck. “The way that we survive is drinking the blood of other people.”

“You drink blood,” Bucky says.

“Unfortunately.”

“So this big romantic gesture you sprang on me was all just fucking dinner to you. I’m _food_.”

Steve winces.

Bucky stands up and stalks towards the front door. “Un-fucking-believable. I’m stuck mated with someone who never even wanted me. That’s great, just _wonderful_.” He yanks it open and slams it behind him. This is quickly turning into the worst day of his life.

He’s halfway to the elevator when he hears footsteps hurrying behind him. “I never said I didn’t want you,” Steve says behind him.

Bucky stops and whirls on him. “Oh, no, my mistake. Of course, you didn’t say that. You just heavily implied it by telling me this whole thing was a fucking _mistake_.”

“No, it’s—” The expression on Steve’s face is just awful, a mix of pity and anguish that both makes Bucky want to hit him and crawl into his arms. The mating bond tugs insistently at him almost as if it’s mocking him. “I’m sorry that I never gave you a choice in the matter.”

“Listen, dickbag,” Bucky snaps. “Don’t make this out to be like you’re trying to be a good guy by saying all this bullshit. I fucking chose you. I knew what I was getting into. I _wanted_ to become your mate. Maybe it all went a little fast, but we don’t make these decisions lightly. I’m in this. Wolves mate for life whether you like it or not.” He wraps his arms around himself and hunches his shoulders, and hates that he’s showing even this amount of vulnerability. He wants to curl up and die. He wants to scream and tear down the walls. “I committed to this, so don’t try to pretend like I didn’t know what I was fucking doing. Our instincts never guide us to the wrong person,” his mouth twists, “at least, usually.”

Steve stares at him for a long time, looking gobsmacked. “You wanted to be my mate.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t have fucking bit you back if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near your neck if I didn’t want it. I would’ve just gone home and let the nascent bond fade on its own. You only initiated the bond. I still had to accept it.”

“So you don’t mind that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“I'm starting to mind a helluva lot now,” Bucky huffs.

“But before, when you bit me, that’s what you wanted? I didn’t—didn’t force you into this?”

A part of Bucky wants to just snap out a snarky retort, but there’s something in Steve’s voice that makes him want to answer seriously. Like so much is riding on how Bucky answers this. He sighs. “Yeah, I wanted it.”

Steve sags with relief, nearly collapsing against the wall. “Oh, _thank god_ ,” he gasps out. “I didn’t—Christ, I thought I’d _stolen_ this from you. Tricked you into committing something you never would’ve accepted otherwise. I thought I hurt you.”

Some of Bucky’s resolve is breaking at the sheer vulnerability in Steve when he says this, but he does his best to hold fast. “You did hurt me. You _left_.”

“But I didn’t rob you of choice in this. I thought I ruined everything, but I didn’t.” Steve bites his lip and twists his hands into each other. “After I learned what this all meant, I realized—if I’d known everything from the start, I would’ve done this all properly. I would’ve _courted_ you. I wanted us to get to know each other on our own terms, to choose a mating bond after years of knowing and falling in love with each other. And I thought I made all of that impossible.”

There’s such utter sincerity in his voice and his expression that Bucky feels himself soften and let go of his anger. He can’t help it. The picture Steve paints is a lovely one, something that he himself has always fantasized about. He sighs. “You didn’t—it’s not impossible. We can still try.”

“Really?” The smile unfolding on Steve’s face is unfairly bright. It does terrible things to Bucky’s emotion, and his wolf makes a very undignified sound.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky grumbles half-heartedly, like he absolutely isn’t melting a little at the sight of Steve so eager and happy to be with him. “You have a lot to make up for. I’m suing for damages. Pain and suffering, motherfucker.”

“You’re the one who broke my window.”

“You’re the one who broke my heart,” Bucky shoots back.

“Touche,” Steve says. “I really am sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Hmm, an apology’s not gonna cut it. You still gotta pay up, asshole.”

Steve rolls his eyes and takes a step closer, then another right into Bucky’s space, his smile taking on a wicked curve. Bucky’s heart speeds up, and he swallows. Steve’s eyes flash that startling red color before he leans in and presses a kiss onto Bucky’s mouth. “Well, what did you have in mind?” he murmurs against his skin.

“Dunno. It’s gonna—” Bucky stutters when Steve pushes a fang gently against his bottom lip, “—gonna take a long time to figure it out. Could take ages.” He grabs at Steve and pushes him against the wall.

He gets a grin in response. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Might as well start now.”

Steve laughs and tucks his head into Bucky’s neck to nip lightly at the mating bite. He shudders and feels his entire body flush with heat.

“You do realize that if you bite me, I’m just going to bite you right back.”

Steve raises his head to peck an affectionate kiss at the corner of Bucky’s jaw. “I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE A THING FOR NECK BITING OKAY? DON’T JUDGE ME
> 
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